As Long As It's Contained
by Aela-Lachance-97
Summary: AU. With the failure of the rebellion, Panem's hopes of a new world have been crushed. At least six years have passed, now, and seventeen year old Cesil Dallory is about to experience the horrors of the Games hands on. Can she survive? Or will she meet her fate in the arena with twenty other Tributes? Rated T for violence and language. Caution: Rating may possibly change.


**A/N: Summary sucks, I know. I couldn't really think of a good one.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games, though it would be amazing if I did...I also don't own the song/poem in here either...I just found it online and liked it. Don't ask where I found it either...I'm one of those people who can't even remember what I had for breakfast this morning...**

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_Hope. It is the only thing stronger than fear..._

Hope. That word has become meaningless in Panem now. Hope was a happy lie that kept the rebels going, fighting for a cause that was never really there in the first place. Six years. Six damn years since the downfall of the rebellion. Six years since the war between the Districts and their Capitol. Six years, and nothing changed. The Games still continue, the Districts are still poor. Only one thing has changed, and that is the number of Districts. Twelve and Thirteen are gone. Destroyed. _Obliterated_.

They've lowered their standards, the people in the Capitol. They Reap ten-year-olds now. Like last year, sitting in front of the television, watching as ten-year-old Brook Myers met her end at the hands of a District 2 Career. It makes me sick. To tear a child, whether they're ten or eighteen, away from their home, their family...It's cruel. And it's going to happen again today.

Today is the Reaping. Today is the day we're all herded into District 4's square like cattle for the slaughter. Twenty-two Tributes. Twenty-one dead children, one Victor. Only one. No more will they make exceptions like they did with the two, grand "star-crossed lovers" of District 12. Just one child to return to their family, bearing the scars the Arena always left.

"Cesil. Cesil, start getting ready. It's almost time."

I sigh. _Almost time for what? _I almost ask. _Time to watch another pair of Tributes be taken to their deaths? _I had already seen enough of that. Twelve years of it, ever since I was really aware of what a Reaping really is.

Slowly, I slide out of the hammock I sleep in and walk over to where my mother hung up the white dress I was to wear for today's event. This sickened me as well. We get all dressed up for such a horrible day. Why? I don't think I'll ever know.

I undress from my ragged slacks, my old shirt, and the leather jacket that belonged to my brother. I watched him die three years ago in the 78th Annual Hunger Games. The soft leather still smelled like him: Salt water, sunshine, and warm breeze. I hug the garment a moment before hanging it up for the day, longing for the moment when I could come home and put it back on. I keep my necklace on, though. It was also his. A pendant of frosted glass on a silver chain, a silver mockingjay floating frozen within the confines of the glass. To me, it's not a sign of the once-was rebellion. It's a memento of my brother.

The fabric of the dress is thin; not uncommon for the balmy climate of District 4. It slides over my body without catching as I slip my arms into the sleeves. Then I tie the sash around the waist, completing the look of the dress. I look foreign in the mirror; this is the first time I had ever worn a dress. I used to just wear old clothes that my brother had worn at my age. I exhale slowly, then walk out of the bedroom that used to be for two.

"Oh, look at you!" my mother gasps in delight. "You look so beautiful!" Her fear of this day is masked by her delight in my appearance. "Let's do your hair before we go."

She moves behind me and begins combing through my hair with her fingers. However, as soon as I feel her begin weaving a braid, I slap her hands away. I don't want a braid. It reminds too much of _her_. That girl that crushed our chances of peace with the Capitol. Our beloved Mockingjay.

My mother doesn't try again, she just runs her fingers through my hair again. "So pretty," she sighs. "Such a pretty blonde. Just like your brother."

I hear the bell in the square toll. Time to go.

My mother hugs me, then we walk to the square together where she sees me off with a "See you after, dear."

I am ushered into a group of seventeens, all of them pale, too frightened for the normal chatter I hear at school. I see some of the girls from my class, some clinging to each other, others hugging themselves, biting their lip to keep from breaking.

"Welcome!"

The sudden loud voice, amplified by the microphone makes most of us jump. The glinting silver, green and blue of Sagitarria Honeyman catches our attention. She is up on the stage now, taking up on the new tradition of ignoring the "Origins of the Games" speech, all smiles and giddy giggles. She speaks, and all I hear is the squeak of her voice, talking in that ridiculous Capitol accent.

"Welcome, people of District Four, to the Reaping for the Eighty-first Annual Hunger Games!"

No one reacts. No one cheers. No one speaks. Why would we?

"Okay, then..." Sagitarria says, sounding somewhat discouraged before she perks back up again. "Well, we didn't come here to talk, right? So let's let today's Reaping begin!"

The silver up-do she sports wavers dangerously as she saunters over to the bowl with the boy's names in it, her stick-thin heels clacking on the stage. That was different. Usually she followed the whole "ladies first" thing she had picked up from somewhere.

Her hand dips in, rustling about in the thousands of paper slips, each containing the name of a possible future Tribute. Sagitarria's hand swirls in the paper, the infernal woman taking her time drawing a name like she did every damn year. "It adds suspense," she had said a few years before. Yeah, sure. Suspense, or a heart-wrenching wait? Then she finally, _finally_ pulls a slip out, smoothes it, and reads the name.

"Seidon Mason!"

The sea of eighteen-year-old boys parts as the named male Tribute steps forward. He is shaking, but remaining confident. I'm not scared, his posture says. Maybe he is, maybe he's not. We will never know; not that most of us particularly want to know. Once he is on the stage, Sagitarria walks over to the bowl holding the names of all the eligible girls in District 4.

The girls around me cling to each other harder, some breaking into tears and silent sobs. I close my eyes, and just breathe. There's no sense in fretting over it; whatever happens, happens, and there's nothing we can do to stop it. It is the will of the Capitol, and it will go through, no matter how unfair it is, or how cruel it is. That is just the world we live in. Through the darkness and the sobs, I hear the name that is finally called.

And it's Cesil Dallory.

Collective gasps sound as I open my eyes and gaze at Sagitarria. Had I heard right? There has to be some mistake...It can't be me. It _can't_ be._ But it is_. The girl who lost her dear brother to the Games, is now going to compete in the very event that ended him. Unless someone steps up to take my place. But no one does. I am alone as I walk up the steps to the stage. And that's when I hear it.

The high, sorrow-filled wail of my mother as she loses another child to the Capitol.

Tears prick at my eyes. I feel almost awful for leaving her like this, but I have no choice. I am a Tribute now, already the property of the Capitol. And I see her, trying to fight her way out of the grip of two Peacekeepers, wailing, crying, screaming at the unfairness of it all. I lock eyes with her a moment, and she stops fighting. She just tears out of the grasp of the white-clad men and walks back to her spot, sinking to her knees and lowering her head.

"Well! Let's here it for this year's representitives of District Four!"

Sagitarria's words go unheard, and all is silent aside from the sobbing of the girls I had been standing by. And then it begins. Softly, at first, but gradually growing into the hymn my brother had sung three years ago before he was taken away from Distrct 4.

_I bid you farewell, oh Friend  
Recollecting the merry time we spent  
I will leave no stone unturned  
For, from your company, is the happiness I earned_

_I bid you farewell, oh partner of mine_  
_Thinking of the times that we together dined_  
_I bid you farewell, oh friend of mine_  
_And I wish your future will be fine_

I feel a Peacekeeper's hand around my arm, but I resist. I want to hear the rest of the song. Just this once.

_So I wish you all the best  
May you succeed in whatever you do next  
You have done your part very well  
In my heart you will always dwell_

The man in white pulls harder, and more of the crowd joins in. I begin stumbling in the direction I'm being pulled.

_Oh my friend, I bid you farewell  
I hope success will ring your doorbell  
With all your good marks you have received  
You will do well in life, I am sure  
You will be very successful, I am sure._

_So I wish you all the best  
May you succeed in whatever you do next  
You have done your part very well  
In my heart you will always dwell_

As the last words are uttered, I am nearly in tears as the cruel doors of the Justice Building close behind me. I am put into a room, the very same room my brother had been put into when he was Reaped. And I wait. I wait for what seems like hours until the door opens. And there, holding herself together, is my mother. She is clutching in her hands my brother's leather jacket, and she walks forward, throwing her arms around me as soon as I stand.

"My baby..." she whispers. "My beautiful baby girl..."

"Don't cry," I say sternly, though I am on the verge of doing so myself.

We don't talk the whole time she's there. She gives me the jacket, and I immediately put it on, taking in the scent of it, of my brother. When she's finally dragged out, she starts wailing again. Screaming. Crying. It's unfair. Unfair, unfair, unfair. And it is. Cruel. Unjustified. Horrifying.

And no one else comes. Nobody to see me off. And I am taken out of the room, ushered out and guided by two Peacekeepers. I don't even look at Seidon as we walk side by side, though I can hear his breathing. He is afraid. His posture says otherwise, but his breathing tells me everything. And next I know, we are on the train and speeding away from District 4.

I am a Tribute now. And I am leaving my home behind to travel to my death.

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**A/N: I'm actually not sure whether or not I'm continuing this...But I'll explain a few things real quick. My character's name is pronounced Sheh-SIL, her last name is pretty much said how it looks. If it wasn't clear, she had an older brother who was Reaped and killed in the Games. If there's any other questions, feel free to ask ;) Again, I'm uncertain whether or not this will be continued, considering I have another story I'm scrambling to update...But I'll see what I can do :)**


End file.
